


a moment's rest

by winnehield



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bathtubs, Domestic Fluff, M/M, they talk about sex a bit sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26986855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnehield/pseuds/winnehield
Summary: Sylvain, Linhardt, and a bath.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	a moment's rest

**Author's Note:**

> yes this is more domestic fluff. yes i know this is my third one. i am posting it anyways because this tag is always so dry and it makes me sad.

“Oh, are you taking a bath?” Sylvain pokes his head into the bathroom, eyes sparkling as he peeks at Linhardt from behind the door. 

Linhardt, truthfully, doesn’t know why he even asks. Isn’t it obvious what he’s doing? There’s only so much he can do in a bathroom. 

He decides to take his sweet time replying- he pulls his hair over his shoulder, leaning back and melting against the side of the tub, letting the warmth of his bath envelop him thoroughly. The hot water makes Linhardt wonder if it would be possible for him to melt away into the water somehow, to warm himself further. 

Then again, that’d be rather inconvenient in the end. He’d end up making Sylvain fish him out of the drain, and Sylvain is no good at those kinds of tasks, so he settles for sinking deeper into the water. “No,” is what Linhardt finally responds with, perhaps some twenty seconds later. “I’m defrosting myself, actually. Maybe even taking a nap…”

The door opens fully, revealing a slightly displeased Sylvain who steps inside. “That’s not good for you, babe,” he chides, already moving to take off his jacket. “You know people drown like that? I could never let that happen to someone as pretty as you.” 

Linhardt has half a mind to close his eyes, to pretend to doze off right here and now. But he doesn’t, because then he’d be at risk of _actually_ dozing off. Not to mention that if he were to sleep now, he’d most certainly miss the show Sylvain puts on as he struggles to unbutton his shirt as fast as possible without popping any buttons off. 

A smile creeps onto his face the more he sees Sylvain’s shirt come undone. What can he say? Linhardt likes looking at his boyfriend. Nice muscles, nice shoulders, nice chest…. 

Sylvain strips completely, making sure to toss every article of clothing into the basket of dirty laundry sitting in the corner. He makes a little face of disgust upon seeing Linhardt’s own clothing, kicked haphazardly into a little pile by the sink, but doesn’t comment on it. 

“Are you joining me, now?” Linhardt pretends to mull over his thoughts, pretends to be trying to remember something important. He gives an exaggerated huff, shooting Sylvain a look he hopes comes off as more exasperated than fond. “I don’t remember asking for you to get in with me. I am perfectly capable of bathing myself, you know.” 

To his delight (not that he’d ever admit it out loud), Sylvain has already shed the last of his clothing and is standing at the foot of the tub. He makes a little gesture Linhardt assumes to mean _move_ , looking like he’s about ready to dive in. Sylvain, who knows Linhardt better than almost anybody else, already seems to know what Linhardt wants, because he grins and crouches down besides the edge of the tub and pecks Linhardt on his forehead. 

“You say you’re fine on your own, but now that I’m here you just want someone to sit on so that you don’t have to feel the walls of the tub,” accuses his boyfriend, and Linhardt laughs. Sylvain is right and he knows it. He allows Sylvain to nudge him away from the wall, and doesn’t complain when Sylvain accidentally knocks over a few bottles sitting along the edge of the tub as he slides in with Linhardt. Sylvain makes a little hissing noise as soon as his foot is submerged. “The water’s pretty hot, Lin. You don’t have to boil yourself to be clean.” 

“I was cold,” Linhardt counters. Pulling his hair away from Sylvain and his grabby, grabby hands, Linhardt shoots him a look. “You’re telling me you’ve never taken a hot bath after a cold day?” 

Sylvain pulls Linhardt into his lap from behind, the motions only a little awkward. Arms settle around his waist, and like this Linhardt can feel the broadness of Sylvain’s shoulders wrapping around him. It’s a much better feeling than the cold, hard porcelain of the tub. “Mm… I mean I _have,_ but never one this hot.” Sylvain squeezes Linhardt for emphasis. 

Linhardt rolls his eyes. That almost hurt to hear. “Then I fail to see what the problem is. Hot baths are meant to be hot, aren’t they? And—" he pauses to bat Sylvain’s hands away from his hair, and then to yawn— “Stop that. There are far more interesting parts of me to touch, if you’re so insistent on doing so.” 

Sylvain chuckles under his breath, continuing to comb his hands through Linhardt’s hair without so much as attempting to stop. “There’s nothing wrong with me wanting to admire my boyfriend so much,” he says, smiling dopily into the side of Linhardt’s head. “I think your hair is pretty. It’s like…” 

“It looks like wet seaweed right now.” Linhardt sees little reason to avoid saying the truth— it really does look like wet seaweed. He can’t imagine there’s anything particularly attractive about it in this state. 

His hair is twirled around Sylvain’s finger. “It’s the prettiest wet seaweed I’ve ever seen, then,” he insists, his smile only growing by the sound of his voice. “I’d put you into a salad, even.” 

“That’s a lie and we both know it. You hate seaweed.” Linhardt thinks back to one of their first dates, and an unfortunate incident involving a salad Linhardt tried (tried!) to make. “I offered you some of my salad and the seaweed in it made you throw up. You, of all people, should remember this.” 

He feels Sylvain’s sigh more than he hears it— a solid rush of warm air, exhaled against the side of his neck. “That’s so unfair. What you gave me was absolutely _not_ a salad, Lin,” 

Linhardt tries to think back to their salad incident. It had been him throwing together whatever ingredients he had found into a bowl and eating it for dinner. And when Sylvain had come over, unannounced and hungry, Linhardt had done the nice thing to do and offered some of it, and… 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Linhardt counters. To be fair, though, he’s not one to speak. Linhardt has eaten many questionable things in his life, and at this point he’s not entirely sure what is and what isn’t normal. He turns to face Sylvain as best he can from his current position. “You just have a weak stomach.” 

“Maybe so,” he sighs, seemingly admitting defeat. Sylvain grins, grabbing Linhardt’s chin and tilting him back into a kiss. Though the angle is awkward, his lips are as warm and inviting as ever, and Linhardt can’t help but lose himself in the familiar touch. He clasps his hand over Sylvain’s own, giving it a gentle squeeze as they pull back. 

Sylvain watches him for a moment, then smiles and asks, “Are you tired? When did you last sleep?” 

Linhardt tries to think about the question, because it’s entirely too valid a question to ask, and it’s important to his health— the only problem is that Linhardt can only think about Sylvain’s lips now, and how nice they might feel along his neck or on his chest, and, well, it’s a rather captivating thought. Linhardt likes being kissed. Who can blame him? 

“You look like you haven’t slept,” Sylvain says, answering his own question. “Have you eaten anything today?” 

A pleased smile spreads out across Linhardt’s face. “Actually, I did eat today, if it worries you so much.” It’s true. He ate a whole family-sized bag of stale potato chips today without a single ounce of regret, along with a rather large glass of water. There’s no real reason to count it as a loss at all— it was a lot of potato chips, and given that he only woke up a few hours ago, it’s a whole lot more than he’s usually done by the time Sylvain returns. When he relays the news of his solitary meal to Sylvain, though, his boyfriend is less than impressed. 

“That doesn’t count. I’ll order us something after we get out.” 

_Ugh._ Like Sylvain is one to talk— Linhardt’s pretty sure he lives exclusively off of instant noodles and protein bars. 

Honestly, though, it’s not like this conversation is all that interesting, anyways. Linhardt decides to change the subject. “Do you mind if I take a nap here?” he asks, settling back against Sylvain’s chest with another big, tired yawn. The water isn’t quite as warm as it was when he first got in, but Sylvain makes up for whatever heat was lost with the warmth of his body. “I’ve been rather tired since I woke up. I spent all night writing up a report for Hanneman. It was exhausting. Took all night and I didn’t even finish.” 

“You’re always tired,” Sylvain comments. He kisses Linhardt on the cheek, not seeming bothered by the way Linhardt’s wet hair tries to stick to his face when he pulls away. “If you need a pillow, you know our bed has like twenty of them?” 

Linhardt considers this. Their bed is, indeed, pretty warm and comfortable, but that would require him getting out of the tub. “I don’t see why I’d have to go through all that trouble just to fall asleep all the same. Wouldn't it be easier if I napped here? I think it’d be a waste of a perfectly good bath to get out so soon.” 

“Uh, _no_. I’m not leaving you to shrivel up in the water.” He feels Sylvain’s arms slide under and around him effortlessly. “God. You’re so lucky I love you,” Sylvain says, easing Linhardt off his lap so he can stand. Then Linhardt is scooped up out of the water and set down on the floor, naked and wet and growing increasingly cold without any hot water (or hot boyfriend) to keep him warm. What a horrible place to sleep.

He sighs, watching with mild disappointment as Sylvain fumbles in one of the cabinets for a towel. “You say that like you’d leave me to fall asleep and drown myself. We both know you could never.” 

Sylvain returns to Linhardt with a towel around his lower half, and holds a second towel up to Linhardt’s body. He allows himself to be wrapped up in the towel, silently grieving the loss of what would’ve been a wonderfully warm and comfortable nap in the tub. Not even twenty minutes had gone by, he thinks, and while that’s usually about normal for a bath, it’s not _nearly_ long enough for him to get cozy. And to think Sylvain had just gotten in, too! 

“You’re insufferable.” Sylvain kisses him on the forehead again, not at all caring if Linhardt gets water all over his body. A second towel covers his head, and now Sylvain is giving him a terrible, lovesick smile. “What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll pay for it.”

"Oh, you were serious about feeding me?" He can't say that he's surprised, but, at the same time, he's a little surprised anyways. "I thought we were going to fuck," Linhardt sighs, watching tiredly as Sylvain leaves the bathroom. Probably to find clothes for him, so he isn't naked and wet all night long. Not that Linhardt would mind being wet and naked all night long- especially if Sylvain is there to keep him warm.

From afar, he hears Sylvain respond with, "Do you want to fuck?" 

"A little bit, yes." Linhardt, tired of feeling his hair drip down his back, takes to finally using the towel Sylvain gave him and begins drying his hair. "A lot yes, actually. Hm. Can't food wait?" 

The bathroom door opens again, Sylvain returning fully clothed and with an extra set, presumably for Linhardt to put on. He shakes his head, looking only mildly amused by Linhardt's complaining. "You probably haven't eaten much today," he chides, brazenly gazing at Linhardt's naked body, which is still considerably wet considering Linhardt has made minimal effort to dry himself off. "Look at it this way— you'd need energy if you want to fuck me." 

And, well, he has a point there. There's not even anything Linhardt can do to defend himself— it's just _that_ solid of a point. If he wants to have sex, he has to eat something, apparently. _Dammit, Gautier._

"Fine," he sniffs, playing up his usual act of being so, very _miserably_ inconvinenced by his apparent need for sustenance. "I suppose you make a fair arguement." He takes the shirt from Sylvain's hands and putting it on regardless of whether his body is dry or not. What would it matter, anyways? It's going to be coming off in a little bit all the same. Linhardt kicks the wet towels towards the basket of dirty laundry (missing it completely) and stands up, forgoing pants (and underwear) entirely. He yawns again as he shuffles out of the bathroom and into Sylvain's artfully decorated bedroom, fully intent on getting cozy in his bed. 

A moment of silence passes, and then, "Are you gonna nap until the food gets here?" Sylvain is watching him. He knows it. 

"It depends," Linhardt says, watching Sylvain stare at him like a starving man. "Do you plan on keeping me awake?" 

Sylvain seems to consider this for a whole three seconds, before he shrugs and pulls off the shirt he had put on less than five minutes ago. "Sure. Why not?" 

**Author's Note:**

> the forbidden end is them passing out after fucking and sleeping through the food delivery. thats it thank you for coming


End file.
